


i turned myself to face me

by sabraneadaz



Category: The Priory of the Orange Tree - Samantha Shannon
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Developing Friendship, Family, Fantasy, Friendship, Gen, High Fantasy, Inys, POV Margret Beck, Plot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25250188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabraneadaz/pseuds/sabraneadaz
Summary: 'There was old lore of the equinoxes heralding change, or amplifying an already changeable nature. Every Inysh citizen knew the Berethnet Queens were subject to periods of darkness, and perhaps it was that susceptibility, or the Queen’s grief which had put these ideas into her head.'(Sabran enlists Meg's help in the next decade of Inysh rule.)
Relationships: Sabran Berethnet & Margret Beck
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Changes by David Bowie.  
> Hope you enjoy! :) <3

Foolish.

That’s how Meg had heard Ead describe Sabran more than once. In fact, after all had been revealed, it was something Meg had heard her say about the Inysh on several occasions.

Perhaps Ead was right.

Meg supposed it should grate to be branded a fool based on upbringing only, but Ead had always been a loyal and generous friend. No matter how much she may have secretly despised the Inysh courtly life, she had always been a true embodiment of her Patron, and Meg struggled to think of someone more virtuous.

And after all, Meg supposed it was natural to be frustrated with those who could not see the web of lies in which they lay.

And now, tripping down the Privy Stair with Queen Sabran IX of Inys in tow – well, she was beginning to understand Ead all the more.

It had started after the passing of the first spring equinox since Fýredel was slain. Roslain and Katryen had been amongst the Sabran’s company to Yscalin upon the Donmata Marosa’s reopening of the newly named Queendom. Loth had also gone with her, and so Meg was left behind with the skeleton duties in the Queen’s tower, and with her dearest Tharian.

There was old lore of the equinoxes heralding change, or amplifying an already changeable nature. Every Inysh citizen knew the Berethnet Queens were subject to periods of darkness, and perhaps it was that susceptibility, or the Queen’s grief which had put these ideas into her head. Either way, it was not long past Sabran’s return to Ascalon Palace when she had broached the subject with Meg.

* * *

They were both retiring to Sabran’s bed – Meg having replaced Ead in the third position of Lady of the Bedchamber – and Sabran sat straight-backed in a wrought-iron chair before her dresser and mirror.

Meg remembered this clearly, for she had distinctly thought of suggesting the acquisition of a mirror to her mother to hang in Serinhall, although of course it would not be as grand or beautifully made as Sabran’s. Nor would it be half as clear in reflection as hers, since the Queen’s was gifted by the Donmata Marosa and heralded from the newly revived glasswork trade in the West of Yscalin. Even noble as they were, the heirs of Goldenbirch could not afford such a luxury.

The chair was just as beautiful. It was also a new acquisition – a personal commission from Sabran to an iron-worker in Ascalon, tales of whose talent had made their way to the Queen’s ears. The woman had moulded the metal so finely as to shape intricate knotted roses within the frame itself, and another artisan had sewn the embroidered cushions tied at the seat and back. It was a truly exquisite work of art, only overshadowed by the woman who sat astride it.

Meg’s heart had ached for Sabran at that moment. It ached for Ead too, of course, as rightfully Ead should be the one to see Sabran how she was now; unfettered by rules, conventions, and all the trappings of queendom. In another, more just world, Ead and Sabran may already have borne their love knot rings, and there would be no need for any more Ladies of the Bedchamber.

Meg lit a candle on the sidetable, and watched as the flame melted the ivory wax to milk.

“I’d like not to retire just yet, Margret,” said Sabran. Her voice was measured, and Meg was concerned to hear that it sounded almost…careful. Not to mention the use of her full name, when Sabran had always called her Meg from the day she’d adopted the nickname.

“Your Majesty?” Meg asked, turning and folding her hands across her stomach.

Sabran was watching herself in the exquisite mirror. A flicker of revulsion – there and gone in the space of a blink. She laid the hairbrush she’d been using onto a lace mat upon the dresser.

“I would have your counsel,” began Sabran, and she turned to face Meg as well.

“Of course,” Meg replied. “What is it that troubles you?”

Sabran’s eyes were an unnatural green.

“It concerns the future of Inys, and how I may best serve my people before…” she trailed off.

An uneasy trickle spouted in Meg’s stomach. She frowned. “Perhaps the Court would give better advice-“

“I am not asking the court,” Sabran cut in.

Meg stayed quiet. She had known Sabran as long as she had lived, but the queen was always Loth’s friend, not hers, and she was subject to boundaries that neither Loth nor Ead had ever acknowledged.

Sabran began again;

“I plan to abdicate the throne less than ten years from now,” – she held up a hand to stop the protest building in Meg’s throat – “and there is much to be done to make Virtudom stable before the next ruler comes into power.”

Meg swallowed. Sabran was right. The palace was always hushed these days, as if people dared not speak or step too loudly for fear of stoking the unease in each person’s heart. Orisons at the Sanctuary of Virtues had gone ahead for a while, but the worshippers of Galian who attended did so uncomfortably, and the problem was even worse outside the palace gates. Unrest was the norm now, and Ascalon was more unstable and fearful than it was even under the rule of Igrain Crest. Followers of the Old Religion had begun to show themselves freely, there had been protests of heretics’ executions spanning decades, and accusations of Berethnet sorcery were beginning to take hold in the thoughts of anxious citizens.

“You have a plan,” Meg acknowledged. She sat on the edge of the bed.

“Ignorance is counter to peace and prosperity,” Sabran said, “this much I have learned in the past year. Ignorance leads to fear, and fear causes friction such as that between the East and West.” She sighed. “Margret. I am the ()th Queen of Inys, and yet the Berethnet reign and Virtudom itself is founded upon a false religion.”

“You are not responsible for the actions of your forebears,” assured Margret. She leaned forward, wishing Sabran’s stiffened shoulders would relax, wishing that she would meet her gaze as a friend and not as a queen.

“To my people, I am. In their eyes I am a false queen. My citizens’ beliefs have been shattered along with their sense of self, as has mine.”

Margret could hardly stand the low, measured tone Sabran spoke in, and her hand twitched in her lap as if to reach for her. But one does not touch the queen.

“Until now, Virtudom has guarded its walls of ignorance, and now that ignorance has turned back upon us. My citizens fear the East and the South, they fear religions that they do not know and the truth of their own, and they fear the sorcery from which their own ruler was born.”

“Forgive me, Majesty, but change has already come to Inys. The relations with Lasia and the new trade with the East have already opened borders. With open borders come open minds.”

A smile pulled at Sabran’s lips, but it was wry.

“I can see why Ead loves you so,” Sabran said.

Meg’s unease melted like the candle into warmth. She and Sabran shared a look, and suddenly the tension eased.

“I am not unaware of my own ignorance of the world beyond Virtudom. Too many Berethnet queens have passed with little need for the knowledge, and so my own education extended mostly to that of a figurehead for the court.”

It was startling to hear Sabran speak so candidly and scathingly of the Inysh court. She had changed so much in so little time, and her outspokenness, her disdain for herself and her own court was unsettling. Her relationship with Ead had changed her more dramatically than any other event in her life.

Sabran did not seem to notice Meg’s preoccupation with this, and continued to speak unselfconsciously.

“As a figurehead I have rarely been needed beyond the palace walls, and until I bore an heir I was protected inside them.”

With this final fact she finally stood from her chair.

“Now I must lead them into a new age, into the unknown. But how can I lead them if I do not understand them?”

Meg frowned. “You’re planning to leave the palace?”

“Yes,” Sabran said. She sat on the bed next to Meg.

“And to…live amongst the people in Ascalon?” she asked.

“I would not be the first queen to abscond during the night,” Sabran replied.

Meg could have laughed. In fact, a shocked giggle escaped from her mouth before she clapped a hand over it, but she was relieved to see that a smile of Sabran’s own had tipped up the corners of her lips.

_Temperance, Meg,_ she chided herself.

“This is why I require your counsel, Meg, and your help if you would give it.”

“Of course,” Meg replied, without any hesitation. Her loyalty to her queen had never been so strong. “But it will be dangerous, Sabran. You may be delivering yourself into the hands of those who wish you harm.”

Sabran inclined her head and her eyes shadowed. “Palace walls can also serve to keep the danger in.”

That was too much. Meg reached out and touched the tips of her fingers lightly to Sabran’s forearm. Sabran froze for a second, but then covered Meg’s hand with her own. They both needed the comfort in this lonely candlelit room.

“What have Lady Roslain and Lady Katryen said about this plan?” Meg asked.

“You are the only soul who knows of it,” replied Sabran. “I know Ros and Kate, and they wouldn’t brook the idea out of fear for me.”

“I also fear for you, Majesty,” assured Meg.

“Yes. But you are also Loth’s sister, Ead’s closest friend, and mine.”

Meg squeezed Sabran’s arms then. Her friend. The words were a balm to them both.

“Courage and loyalty are dear at present, and that is why I have come to you before anyone else.”

Meg sighed. “It will take effort to disguise you,” she said. She flicked her gaze over Sabran’s straight, raven-black hair and her eyes of sterren.

“Do not forget that Loth’s likeness was posted across Ascalon for months. Your resemblance to him may also draw attention,” pointed out Sabran.

This really was the most foolish idea. But then, she had never shied away from a challenge. Already her mind was racing, planning, conjuring and casting aside names and places and disguises to execute the plan.


	2. Chapter 2

A twig cracked underfoot. Ead startled beside Meg, and the two of them turned in fear at a rustle in the bushes behind them. Claustrophobia took a hold of them. The trees of the haithwood drew closer, their thick roots contracting through the icy ground like a draughtsman’s muscles, veins of them seizing underfoot.

A shatter. The scream of an owl.

Caught on a root, Meg fell, and as her palms struck the ground Ead’s feet fled into the pitch dark. Meg cried out but there was no sound in her throat – only an ache. A rasp which was nothing to do with the harsh winter air. She pulled herself forward through the dense undergrowth which her abraded hands and flinched at a stray root where it snuck beneath her torso.

Ead had left her.

Meg’s eyes darted; wide as saucers as she scrambled to her feet; trying to see something, anything through the gloom. She was alone, acres deep in the haithwood.

By the Mother, the light of even the wolf moon could not penetrate the evil of this forest.

Crack.

Meg whipped around and the choking ache grew harsher in her throat, and she grabbed at it, falling again to her knees, choking on the scant breath she could gasp inside – and she was writhing, tossing, scrabbling at her neck but the thorns were impaling the column of her throat from the inside and blood gushed into her lungs and –

“Meg?”

_Kalyba._

“N-no-“ she choked out.

She threw herself backwards and her head collided hard with something – a tree trunk? – shooting stars before her eyes – but even they couldn’t outshine those unnatural green eyes – _sorcery_ – eyes of sterren that pursued her and a curtain of dark hair enveloping her as the thorns ripped her from the inside out –

“Meg!”

And then a light. Kalyba held a candle in her hand and it was the only light in this thick darkness that smothered them both – but even as a thorn carved into her heart Meg thought, _where did she get the wax?_

“Meg, Margret, you’re dreaming.”

Dreaming?

Meg clawed herself upward, and the roots had turned to sheets between her fingers, the tree the hard corner of a bedpost, and the smell of frozen dirt and death became that of roses.

Sabran set the candle precariously down on the bed between them.

Meg had been dreaming.

“Your Majesty…” she began, shame curdling to formality in her sore throat, “I-“

“The darkness often brings our fears out into the world.” Sabran said. “There is no shame in it.”

Margret nodded, although she wasn’t sure if Sabran could see.

“When you awoke, you looked upon me with fear. You dreamt of my ancestor, did you not?” Sabran asked with a quiet voice.

“Yes,” Meg confirmed.

She eased herself upright and smoothed the sheets around her. Sabran joined her underneath the sheets once again, and resettled the candle between them. The wax dripped and pooled into its dish.

“I would know the full story of that night in the haithwood, if you would tell me,” Sabran said.

“Ead did not tell it?” Meg asked, surprised. She’d thought that Ead had revealed all to Sabran soon after they had returned from Serinhall.

“She revealed to me the truth of my ancestry, and after that I was in little state to enquire further. Kalyba would not have taken Ascalon from you easily, and one should not be left alone with their monsters.”

Meg caressed her throat where she still imagined the phantom thorns scraping through flesh, but her skin was smooth and unmarred. She took a deep breath. Sabran’s green eyes shone earnestly in the candlelight.

And so Meg told her story.

*

The day passed slowly. A fog of sleeplessness and physical exhaustion plagued Meg as she carried out her chores, although she was sure not to avail any others of this knowledge. It would not do to seem incompetent.

Lady Katryen was breaking her fast with Sabran that morning, and with Roslain away to the Crest estate on business, it was up to Meg and the Ladies of the Privy Chamber to carry out the duties in the Queen Tower.

Not for the first time Meg cursed the position. What she would give to be back at Serinhall now, with the affairs of the estate occupying her days instead of inane courtly gossip. But then, she chided herself, she was still fortunate. Imagine if she were a laundress.

She was to visit Serinhall in little over a few weeks anyway. Her father had shown an amazing feat of strength and so he still presided over Goldenbirch, though his mind was absent more often than not. It had been a balm, though, to witness Loth’s return to Serinhall and to their father’s embrace. That reunion had knitted together Meg’s devastated heart.

Meg oversaw the final touches in the Queen Bedchamber (the chamber pot replaced in the cabinet, the final sweep of the marble floors), and then dismissed the ladies in waiting. She locked the door with a heavy key.

She knew where she would likely find Loth this morning. More than any of them who had learned the truth of Cleolind, he had taken the test of faith the hardest.

With swift feet, Meg descended the stairs and made her way to the Sanctuary of Virtues.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr at [folieassdeux](http://folieassdeux.tumblr.com) or my tpotot sideblog [sabraneadaz](http://sabraneadaz.tumblr.com). 
> 
> comments sustain me <3


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